


Withholding

by luxover



Category: American Idol RPF, David Cook (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxover/pseuds/luxover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Alright,” David says. “If I make it from here, you owe me a blowjob.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Withholding

**Author's Note:**

> Based [on](http://i377.photobucket.com/albums/oo213/luxover/6gvbrb.jpg) [these](http://i377.photobucket.com/albums/oo213/luxover/dc-tulsatewer-100.png) [pictures.](http://i377.photobucket.com/albums/oo213/luxover/tumblr_kq0g77Lg7u1qze07bo1_500.jpg)

They’re in Macon, Georgia.

“Alright,” David says. “If I make it from here, you owe me a blowjob.”

“What? No,” Neal says. “Fuck no.” He lights a cigarette and watches David bobble the basketball from hand to hand.

“Really?” David looks surprised, and Neal has no clue why. David knows that Neal likes to be the one in charge; Neal made sure of that early on.

“Yeah, really. If I want your cock in my mouth, I’ll put your cock in my mouth on my own fucking time.”

David pauses, holding the basketball between his arm and his side. It makes Neal’s attention focus on David’s hips. David has nice hips, and they look even better when Neal’s fingertips have left little, circular bruises on them the night before.

He quirks a smile. “Are you saying you don’t _want_ my cock in your mouth, Neal Tiemann? Because we both know that’s a lie.”

“No,” Neal says between drags on his cigarette. “What I’m saying is, I’m not your bitch, and my blowjobs are worth more than one fucking basket.”

“Two in a row?” Dave asks. “From here?”

Neal shakes his head in disbelief. “Seriously? You should be following me around with a fucking parasol or a towel or something in case I should so much as break a sweat, that’s how good I am.” He knows David is watching, so he takes one last drag before he licks his fingers and pinches the cherry, tucking the cigarette behind his ear. David likes that for some reason, and Neal likes making David squirm.

“Maybe,” David says, licking his lips. His voice cracks. “Maybe I will, then.” He turns back to the net. Shoots, _swish_.

“Shame I didn’t take you up on that bet,” Neal says, heading back into the poorly lit club to get ready for that night’s show. “We could be having a lot of fun right now.”

“Fuck you,” David says to his back. Shoots, _swish_. David groans. “Oh, _fuck you_.”

Neal says, “Maybe later, when I’m not busy,” and walks away.

 

That night, after the show, Neal climbs into David’s bunk. Neither of them are small guys, so it takes a bit of work to get them both inside, and even then Neal is in great danger of having his ass hang out. But they’ve been doing this for a while now—more than a while, really—and so it doesn’t take them much time to get situated.

Neal rests on his forearms and kisses David, slow and sloppy and exactly how he knows David likes it. David’s hair is wet from showering, just like his is, and Neal says, “Wish we could’ve showered together tonight.”

“Mmm,” David says. “That would’ve been nice.”

Neal thinks it really would have been, and he grinds down his hips in agreement. Without thinking, he put his hand palm-down on David’s belly, tucking the ends of his fingertips in the waistband of Dave’s boxers.

“Trying to collect, huh?” David asks.

“What?”

“Oh, come on,” David says. “Two baskets in a row? From where I was standing? I shouldn’t have even been able to make _one_. Pay up.”

Neal strokes his thumb along David’s skin and laughs dryly. “Ah, you know I don’t work like that,” he says, and he moves to get up.

David grabs his wrist.

“Don’t work like what?” he asks. His voice is deep and rough. “You don’t want to take your time with me, and only let me come when you say I can come? Don’t want me a boneless mess beneath you, willing to do anything so long as you’ll get me off? Don’t you like that kind of control, Neal?”

“I see what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to happen,” Neal says, and he hops down out of the bunk. Moments later, when he’s lying in his own bed, he can hear the soft rustle of fabrics and a change in David’s breathing. He can picture David jacking himself off and it’s hot enough—it’s always hot enough— that Neal almost wants to go back to David’s bunk and just give him what he wants. He doesn’t.

He’s known David for long enough, been fucking him for long enough, that he can tell when David comes just by the sound of his breath and by the sounds of the movements he makes. Neal presses the heel of his hand down on himself before finally giving up and shoving his hand down the front of his boxers.

 

They’re in Knoxville, Tennessee.

It’s been two days and Neal hasn’t as much as touched David. That’s not how he works. He sees David stare when they’re throwing the football around, and when he stretches in the morning and his shirt rides up, but David doesn’t say anything and neither does Neal.

Before he knows it, they’re backstage, ten minutes until they’re on, and his lead singer is running around like a chicken without his head, looking for his belt, and his other sock, and his only-god-knows-what.

“Have you seen my—oh, hey, thanks, Andy,” David says, and rips a red bandana off of Andy’s head. Neal recognizes it because it’s one that David had stolen from him ages ago.

“Thanks, it’s not like I was using that or anything,” Andy says.

“I know,” David says, “but I need it. You can have it back later.” Neal watches as he folds it up and sticks it in his back pocket.

Kyle pops his head in and yells, “Go time!” and then, “Working the hanky code, I see. _Nice_.”

“Oh yeah,” David says, and he shoots a glance over at Neal. “Red, so I like anal fisting. Left pocket; giving.”

The guys all laugh and start to give Neal a hard time, which he thinks is bullshit because they’ve never done that, and Neal would be the one giving, besides.

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” he says, and then melodramatically storms onstage. Immediately afterwards, he feels kind of like a pussy who can dish it but can’t take it, but then he realizes that he hasn’t had sex with David in two fucking days and so he’s allowed to be a little bit crabby.

For the most part, the show goes alright. Neal cruises through the new stuff without much thought, but some of the songs off of Analog Heart really make him think. He knew them once, mostly just for fun, but it’s been a long time.

Towards the end, he starts to play the solo from Let Go, which he loves because parts of it really remind him of some old school Maiden or something. He angles his guitar out away from his body and just starts shredding, really lost in it, and he doesn’t even notice Dave until he’s close enough that Neal can feel him.

“Neal,” he says, and then he makes this noise, high-pitched and cut-off at the end, and Neal just feels it in his bones. David reaches behind himself—Neal can see that much out of the corner of his eye—and his hand comes back with the red handkerchief.

And then he wipes the sweat off of Neal’s forehead with it.

Neal was _joking_ when he suggested it; he didn’t really mean it, let alone expect David to actually do it. Suddenly, Neal’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, and David just brushes the sweat-slicked hair that’s peeking out of his hat and is plastered to his forehead out of his eyes and walks away.

Neal has to rearrange his guitar in front of him and spends the rest of the set wondering what else he could make David do.

 

They’re in Macomb, Illinois.

It’s four days later, they haven’t fucked since before Georgia, and Neal is about to lose his cool. He knows that really, all Dave wants is a blowjob and Neal doesn’t have a problem with that, not at all, but he has a major problem with David telling him what to do, and so he’s just not going to do it.

That morning, they sit shoulder flush against shoulder and do the crossword puzzle together. He looks at David and David’s got bed head, his hair all messed up, and Neal fucking loves it when David’s hair is like that. Also, he’s horny as shit and David’s wearing a tight shirt with a hole just below his collarbone, and he really, really can’t wait anymore.

But David shies away from his kiss by saying, “Hey, Kyle, pass me a banana?” and then Neal has to sit there and watch him eat it. He gets halfway before Neal excuses himself and heads to the bathroom.

His boyfriend is an asshole.

So, naturally, Neal does the only rational thing that there is to do: he completely ignores David.

He ignores him when David asks for the ketchup at the diner, and he ignores him when David asks if anyone wants to toss a ball around. He even goes so far as to switch seats when David sits next to him, and Neal’s not exactly proud of it, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Andy looks at Dave all sympathetic and says, “Lovers’ quarrel, huh?”

Neal butts in and says to Andy, “Can’t have a quarrel if you’re not talking to begin with.”

David ignores him on stage that night, and Neal can’t help but get pissed off by that.

 

Searcy, Arkansas, a full week later.

Even though they’re talking again, things are still stilted between the two of them and Neal’s resorted to jerking off in the bathroom every chance he gets. It’s just—he forgets how hot David is when he’s mad, and even though he hates being out of control, he kind of likes watching David struggle for the upper hand.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not going to happen.

Instead, he says, “Hey, Dave—want to go play some baseball?”

David says, “Yeah, sure, let me just throw on some shoes.” Although by shoes, it turns out David meant flip-flops, and Neal laughs.

“Well, look at you, Cook. Still making my heart flip-flop,” he deadpans.

David flips him off and says, “Fuck you.”

Neal mutters, “I wish,” and if David hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

So they toss the ball around a bit and take turns on who pitches and who bats. Things almost seem back to normal when Cook motions like he’s going to use the bat to beat the shit out of him, but then Neal uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe sweat off his face and David just _freezes_.

“I, um,” he says. “I’m kind of beat. Gonna… go rest before the show.”

Neal smoothes his shirt back down and watches David walk away.

 

The show goes fine. David’s not altogether actively playing towards him, but he’s not ignoring him either, so Neal calls it a draw. They walk offstage and someone passes him a cold bottle of water; he downs over half of it in one go.

He’s ready to shower, ready to sign some stuff and then go to sleep, but someone’s shoving him back out, slinging a guitar at him and saying, “Encore! Encore, go, go!” He feels like an idiot for forgetting.

So he rushes out and he’s just playing on autopilot, not even thinking, when David comes up behind him. Neal can feel the heat from David’s body and David’s fingers are gripping his shoulders so hard that they’re probably going to leave behind bruises.

Neal keeps playing.

David turns his head and says into Neal’s ear, “How long are we going to fucking do this?”

Neal keeps playing, but his mind focuses on the feel of David’s lips on the outer shell of his ear.

David continues, “You’re so fucking sexy, playing guitar. I’m hard just watching—I’m always fucking hard for you.” He grinds his hips against Neal’s ass—just barely, so small that Neal almost isn’t sure that it had happened—and then backs away. David picks up the song where he left off, and Neal’s stuck with a raging hard-on and the dire need to fuck his boyfriend.

 

The show ends and Neal doesn’t even give David time to put his guitar down. Instead, he backs him into a secluded corner of the venue and pushes him hard up against a stack of amps.

“Fuck,” Neal says, running his fingers down David’s body. “I want to fuck you so bad. Been too long.”

He knocks David’s guitar off to the side and grinds their hips together. At first, David grinds back, but then he reaches out and pushes Neal’s hips away from his. Neal expects David to shove his hand down the front of his pants, so when he doesn’t, Neal asks, “What? What’s wrong?”

“You owe me,” David says, his fingers still biting into the skin at Neal’s hips.

“Wait, what?”

“Two baskets in a row. You owe me a blowjob, Tiemann, so put your mouth to some good use.”

Neal just looks at David, and he’s pretty fucking pissed. David needs to get over that.

“I don’t fucking owe you _shit_ ,” Neal says, and he places one of David’s hands on his crotch. “I actually think it’s the other way around.”

And while they’re mostly out of sight, there’s still people moving about, breaking down the stage and packing up equipment. Anyone could see them if they looked, and that, if anything, just makes Neal harder.

David slides a free hand up the back of Neal’s neck and into his hair. He pulls it, hard, and Neal’s head is jerked to one side, exposing his throat and part of his chest from where his shirt buttons have come undone.

David mouth is hot on Neal’s neck and when he bites down, Neal is unable to suppress a groan. Teeth are replaced with lips and tongue and there’s no way Neal’s not going to have a huge-ass hickey on his neck in a few hours, no fucking way.

David backs off. “Blow me,” he says, and it comes out like a growl, like something Neal wouldn’t want to disobey. He does disobey though, because Neal’s not David’s little bitch. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile, and there’s no way Neal’s going to give David all the control. No fucking way.

“Get on your knees.”

“I told you,” Neal says. “When I want your cock in my mouth, I’ll ask for it.”

David just yanks on Neal’s hair harder and loops one leg around one of Neal’s, pushing him off balance and getting him to stumble. After that, it’s not hard for David to get him off his feet.

“See?” David asks. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“Fuck you, David,” Neal says.

David rubs himself through his jeans and says, “Maybe later, when I’m not busy.” Neal’s face is only a couple of inches away from Dave’s cock, and if he looks he can see it straining against his fly.

“I’m going to fucking bite your dick off if you put it anywhere near me,” he says.

“No, you won’t,” David tells him. “Come on, Tiemann. One fucking blowjob and then you can do whatever you want to me.”

He presses Neal’s face against his jeans, and Neal can smell him through the thick fabric. He can imagine all too well what he looks like right now on his knees; he’s so used to being the one to do that to David, being the one to tell David what to do. A large part of him hates being out of control like this, hates being humiliated like this, but then there’s another smaller part of him that is so fucking turned on by the sight of David taking charge, and it’s that part that’s making his cock throb in his jeans, making him want to do what David says just so he can have his fun afterwards.

“Do it,” David urges, but his voice is soft and the grip he had in Neal’s hair has loosened to the point that it feels good, comfortable. David untangles his hand from Neal’s hair, and Neal misses it almost immediately until David’s shoving two fingers in his mouth, pressing his tongue down and forcing his jaw open.

With his other hand, David pops open the button on his jeans and lowers the zipper. His cock is hard and Neal can’t–can’t handle it when he sees that David’s not wearing underwear, not at all. He makes the motion almost immediately to move forward, to take David’s length into his mouth and swallow down as much as possible, but David’s fingers are still in his mouth, still holding him back.

David strokes himself with his free hand. “Are you going to be good?” he asks, and that snaps Neal back into himself and he tries to say a quick “Fuck you.”

“Come on,” David says, lightly slapping Neal’s cheek with the hand that was just in Neal’s mouth. Neal can feel his own spit on his cheek, rapidly cooling, and David’s hand slides back into his hair.

“Come on,” he says again. “Come on, Neal, please.” And it’s that _please_ that gets him. He looks up and Cook is just standing there breathing heavily and flushed red, his junk just hanging out in the open. David’s got Neal on his knees, he’s towering over Neal, in the position of power, and yet _he’s_ begging _Neal_ , _he’s_ saying please, with his voice high and strangled.

So Neal leans forward against all better judgment and licks a stripe up the length of David’s cock, and David’s hips stutter, just from that.

Neal smirks. “God, you’re just fucking begging for it, aren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up and just get me off,” David says. “It’s been fucking forever.”

“If you weren’t such a demanding little shit we wouldn’t have had that problem,” Neal says, and then he takes David in his mouth again, one hand wrapped around the base to cover what his mouth won’t.

“Oh shit, oh shit, you’re good at this,” David says, as if he didn’t already know. “I love seeing your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Neal hums, and takes extra care to make sure that the metal of his lip rings drag along David’s skin. Neal hears his breath hitch and he takes that to be a victory. Neal pulls back, almost completely off, and just sucks on the head for a bit, teasing David.

His knees kill—that’s the worst part about blowjobs, really—and so do his toes from where they’re curled back as he sits on his ankles. His boots slide along the floor and he almost tips backwards, but David grabs his shoulder and holds him in place.

“Neal,” he says. “Neal, Neal, Neal.” He sounds lost and Neal is so hard it hurts.

He waits a second--teasing, almost-- and then takes as much of David into his mouth as he can. He nose is buried in David’s hair, and David is holding him there, his hand hot and heavy on the back of Neal’s head.

David’s hips stutter again, and his feet slide forward again as his head tilts back. Neal reaches up two hands to wrap around David’s hips, holding him still and holding him up.

“Neal, Neal,” he says, and swats at Neal’s hands. “Stop, stop.”

Neal moves to pull back, and David’s cock is almost out of his mouth when David grabs his hair and says, “No, wait, not—not that.”

Neal doesn’t know what David wants. He’s so hard he can barely think straight, and David is just incoherent, touching Neal wherever he can reach.

“Keep—but touch yourself,” David stutters out, and Neal doesn’t know why he didn’t think of that. A part of him thinks maybe he was waiting, waiting for David to _let_ him touch himself, and for a split second he’s so disgusted with himself, so blown away by how easily he gave up control, that he wants to stand up and walk away, just leave David hanging out of his jeans, hard and on the edge of coming.

So for a second— a split second—he’s considering it, really considering it, but he wants to get off and, perhaps more importantly, he wants David to get off, so he stays put.

Neal reaches down and practically rips open his jeans, palming himself hard before he jerks himself off, hard and fast and exactly what he needs.

“Oh my god, you’re—you’re— _fuck_ ,” David says, and Neal feels heat pool deep in the bottom of his stomach.

“Neal,” he says, “Neal, I’m going to—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he does tug on Neal’s hair to get him to pull off. Neal doesn’t move, and when David comes, he swallows it all down. He licks David clean, gentle but thorough, and when he lets David’s cock slide out of his mouth, he returns all of his focus on getting himself off, his eyes never leaving David’s face.

It doesn’t take long before he’s coming all over his hand, biting his lip and pulling one silver hoop into his mouth in an attempt to keep quiet. It doesn’t matter in the end, because David groans loud enough for the both of them.

David pulls him up by his collar, saying, “C’mere,” and trailing his hands down Neal’s arm. Neal’s knees hurt as he gets up, his muscles feeling tight at the sudden movement.

David grabs his wrist and brings Neal’s hand up to his mouth, licking all the come off of Neal’s skin.

“You taste good,” David smiles, his tongue peeking through Neal’s fingers.

“I hate you,” Neal says, but he kisses David anyways, with a lot of teeth and a lot, a lot of tongue. When David pulls back, Neal bites down on his lip, almost hard enough to break skin, and tucks David’s cock back into his pants.

“No you don’t,” David says.

Neal shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, “but I’m not even going to pretend that I’m going to be gentle tonight.”

“I’m not going to ask you to.”

And then someone rushes by, yelling something about cords and sound boards, and they both freeze. David looks at Neal, his eyes comically wide, and Neal just laughs and laughs and laughs.


End file.
